Iqaluit, part 4: The Whale Hunt

Sunday was another beautiful day in Iqaluit, so we apologized to our weary legs and took them out for another long hike. A friendly cab driver from Ethiopia (not in Iqualuit by choice, he said, but he's making the best of it) took us up to the northern corner of Sylvia Grinnell Territorial park, right next to the far end of the airport runway.

We walked out past the edge of the park along the wide rocky river. We got a big smiley wave from a mom driving past in a crazy dune buggy with her husband and kids, heading out to one of the scattered buildings off in the distance. We turned around eventually, found some northern pintails in a pond, and picked our way over rocks to get up close to one of the waterfalls we'd seen the other day.

The museum was finally open when we made it back to town, so we went in. They had a variety of carvings, traditional objects, artwork, and some animal fur and bones that were free to touch. B particularly enjoyed the informative binders.

We retired a bit early to watch some tv in the hotel room. In the evening, we got a text from Joseph: they were bringing in the whale.

For the first time in four years, the Department of Fisheries and Oceans authorized a bowhead whale hunt this summer. A couple dozen Inuit hunters had been out in multiple boats for days when we arrived, and the news came in on Sunday that they'd caught one. They'd be cutting it up at sea and bringing pieces in over the next few days to distribute to people in Iqaluit and other settlements in the region.

Joseph was picking some up for the community centre and asked if we wanted to come see, so of course we said yes. We piled into his truck with his wife, two kids, and employee Phil, and drove south of town to the jetty as the sun set.

The whale meat was towed on ropes in large chunks in the water to help keep it fresh. A man in a smaller boat brought it closer to the shore, where it would sit on the rocks when the tide went out. The woman who had piloted the main hunting boat took charge of cutting it free of the ropes (using a knife made by her grandfather).

It was a remarkable, joyous scene to watch: people pulled up in boats or trucks or ATVs, taking big pieces of maktaaq in plastic bags. There were smiles and no question of payment: it was freely and happily given. We got to eat pieces of the skin -- it was jet black, had the texture of extremely chewy jelly, and tasted vaguely of seaweed. Phil kept saying how excited he was and giving hugs to people he knew. We felt indescribably privileged to get to witness the harvest.

Joseph left his excited son with Phil and drove us back, stopping for a view of the sunset at Sylvia Grinnell park. We fell asleep with the curtains open in case we caught a glimpse of the northern lights.